


Black and White and Grey

by makesometime



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Curses, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:44:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Porn Battle XIV, prompts: desperate, curse, passion</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black and White and Grey

It was never as desperate as this with Nick. Though she has no memories to base this on, nothing more than the assumption of what she's learnt of her unwilling house guest over the past few weeks, Juliette considers this a key truth. Nick is a good, kind, gentle man. Passionate about things that matter. But not desperate. Never desperate. He's too level headed for such things.

So is she.

Or so she should be.

Sean has made overtures to explain what's going on with them. She's not entirely sure she understands, and she's not entirely sure he does either. Words like curse, betrayal, pain flit through her muddled consciousness alongside fate, want, need.

Somewhere at the edge of her mind, the fact that she might be 'cursed' makes perfect sense. In that tiny region of her mind, everything that she's been going through, everything that has no logical explanation... _everything_... just fits. It's perfectly understandable. In that tiny region, her residual feelings for Nick are _right_ , her change of personality is _wrong_ , things are black and white and definite.

The rest of her mind is painted in shades of grey that she has no desire to strip away.

When he looks at her ( _he_ is Sean, there's only Sean, he's the only man her mind recognises as time ticks on) her body swells with an emotional reaction she thought beyond her. It reminds her of her youth, of the teenage desperation shares with boys far less capable than him, full of potential they will never meet, full of promise that he exceeded long ago. Passion fills the unexpected heat of his green gaze, passion bridges the gap in her soul that needs fulfilment and will take it at any cost.

She lets him into her home, the home that has been empty save herself for days now. She lets Sean over the literal and figurative threshold of her life and that is her undoing.

Being in close proximity to him has turned out badly for her every time since she woke up - if desperate kisses with a man she barely knows can count as 'bad' (it can, it does, it has). She has no expectation that this time will be any different because there is surely no reason for it to be so - though god knows, reason fled from her life a long time ago.

He moves in close, she lets him.

His hands find her hips, she doesn't stop their path.

Her hands fist in the lapels of his long coat and close the distance between them and what little fight either of them possessed is gone in the perfect second her body presses up against him.

Sean's breath leaves him in a rush, the only outward suggestion beside his creased brow that any of this is affecting him beyond his comprehension. Juliette marvels at the way she fits against him, conscious of her relatively small stature when compared to such an imposing figure of a man. (Nick is shorter, more contained, far more fitting for a woman of her size even if the broadness of Sean's shoulders has always made her stomach flip, just a little.)

When his lips touch hers, skin on skin and not a moment too soon, her already fractured memory gives up trying to keep track of her emotions, her thoughts, and focusses instead on letting her _feel_.

She's aware of the way he backs her up into the pillar of the entryway, his superior size and power shielding her from the world as the true force of himself takes over. He smirks whenever she nips at his lips, eager. Clothes vanish in fits and starts (though she remembers ripping his shirt open from the tinkle of buttons spilling over the wooden floor).

They make progress through the house without her even remembering taking the steps, through the living room, the dining area. They stop at the table, on the couch, against the wall of the staircase; his hands comb through her hair, over her back, cup her ass as he lifts her around him. She scratches her nails down his perfect arms, his sculpted back and his growls are music to her ears.

If she thinks too hard about it, she'll come to a conclusion as startling as it is concerning - she feels like a marionette, pulled by the strings of a puppet-master whose laughter trickles through her mind as a cold, sinister soundtrack to their passion. If she pushes through the cloud obscuring the source of her grasping hands, clutching limbs, shaking muscles, she knows what she'll find. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a smile as coy as it is threatening.

But this requires effort her body doesn't have, too consumed with Sean Renard, too consumed with ending their affliction.

The next morning dawns with a clarity she doesn't expect, absent a resolution they've both been searching for. She stands in front of the bathroom mirror, hands listlessly smoothing over marks and bruises that signify a battle lost. Sean approaches silently from the bedroom to stand behind her and places his hands on her stomach.

"This should have stopped it." She says without thought.

He frowns at their reflection. "Is that what you wanted?"

The man behind her is equally as marked with their failure as she; his lower lip has a dusting of dried blood around a nasty split, his stubbled jaw shows redness where her teeth once were.

She shakes her head and leans back into him, the urge to fight disappearing. "No."

The part of her that would protest this is muted, forced down by the heat in his eyes, the heavy sense of fate swirling around them. It doesn't matter now.


End file.
